


Five Times Yuri Is Exceptionally Affectionate, and One Time Otabek Figures It Out

by Charmsilver



Series: Fives [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Affectionate Yuri Plisetsky, Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Charmsilver
Summary: Or, Otabek is slowly losing his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get enough of these 5+1 fics, it seems. 
> 
> I love these two, and Yuri especially is such an interesting character, and so fun to write! I think he's a total softie deep down. Everyone is a little older in this fic - I'm thinking Yuri is 18 or 19, Otabek is uh, 21? 22?
> 
> I've no idea why Otabek would spend so much time in St Petersburg when he should be training with his coach in Almaty, but what the hell, it doesn't have to make sense.
> 
> Anyway, happy reading, lovelies.

1  
Otabek gets off the five-hour flight from Almaty with a crick in his neck and the beginnings of a headache at the back of his skull. Flying has always been an unpleasant experience, but the rocky turbulence that shook the plane for the last two hours of the trip set Otabek’s nerves on edge. There’s a tension in his shoulders that won’t go away, and the delay to disembark hadn’t helped matters at all.

At least the airport is nice. The ceiling looks like folded paper and there are large empty spaces underneath where people mill about, dragging suitcases and checking their boarding passes.

The flight arrived late; the weather delayed it’s departure by an hour or so and by the time Otabek finds his way out of the terminal, it’s already ten-thirty at night according to his phone.

A text comes through just as he’s exiting the security point. Predictably, it’s from Yuri.

_where the fuck are you_

The phone beeps again, this time three times in quick succession:

_it says you’ve landed so whys it taking so long?_

_Ugh_

_there’s a group of girls staring at me. you better get here soon or im going to be murdered_

And another:

_I’m serious. where are you?????_

Yuri’s inconsistent grammar and hyperbolic style make Otabek smile, despite the pounding in his head. Although, he is a little worried about Yuri being mobbed by his fans again; they’re very persistent, and not even the slightest bit ashamed of their obsession.

The crowd of people in front of Otabek slowly disperses, and he’s left standing at the gate, blinking around at all the faces in the room, searching for one in particular.

A flash of yellow catches his eye, and he turns to see Yuri hunkered down in one of those awful airport seats, his hood drawn almost completely over his face, just a few strands of hair peeking out, and his knees pulled up to his chest. He’s glaring down at his phone while a group of young girls edge ever closer, their own phones held at the ready in case Yuri should make any kind of movement, as if he’s an animal in a zoo.

The ice tiger of Russia indeed.

Otabek pulls out his phone again just in time to see another text appear on his screen:

_Im going to die and it’s all your fault_

With half an eye on Yuri’s Angels, Otabek types out a response:

_Do you need evac?_

He watches Yuri, and although he can’t see his face, Otabek notices the slight change in posture, the straightening of the shoulders, the little tossing motion Yuri does with his head, making more of his hair fly out of his hood. It’s interesting.

_I need you to get off the plane so i can get out of here already_

Otabek grins as the message slides into view.

_Look up._

It takes a couple of seconds for the text to pass from one phone to the other, but as soon as it does, Yuri’s head shoots up and he stares straight at Otabek, surprise etched across his face.

The girls screech quietly and snap some photos, but Otabek has eyes only for Yuri, whose expression morphs from shock to unreserved delight.

Yuri’s feline body springs from the chair and Otabek’s heart skips a beat as he leaps towards him. There’s a moment that seems to be suspended in time, where Yuri is halfway to Otabek, his mouth stretched into an elated grin, the cameras on the girls’ phones flashing behind him like the paparazzi, and then time speeds up, and Yuri’s entire body crashes into Otabek at full force. Yuri’s arms encircle Otabek’s neck, and his legs wrap around his waist. Without thinking, Otabek catches him, one arm holding him underneath his thighs and the other gripping him around the waist.

Otabek stumbles, but manages to steady himself as Yuri buries his face into his neck for several seconds.

Then Yuri’s hands abruptly find Otabek’s shoulders and he pushes back, straightening his arms so he’s holding his torso away from Otabek, though his legs are still wrapped securely around his waist. The delighted smile he’d had mere seconds ago has vanished, replaced by a more characteristic scowl. His eyes, though, are shining.

“You’re late,” he growls.

Otabek shrugs. His arms are already tiring from holding Yuri like this, and he’s painfully aware of how close they are right now, how he can feel the muscle of Yuri’s thigh against his palm, and the shifting of his shoulder blades as he moves. Yuri’s grown and filled out a little since they first met, but he’s still lithe and lean, having somehow managed to hold onto that grace that sets him apart from other skaters.

The fact is, Yuri and he haven’t spent much time together in person, and this tactile reunion is hardly what Otabek had expected. They’ve Skyped plenty, and chatted over text, and though Otabek had seen a milder side to Yuri than the ferocity he exudes in public, he’s still caught off guard by how affectionate Yuri can be.

“It was the weather,” Otabek says by way of apology, and Yuri’s scowl deepens. He unhooks his legs from Otabek’s waist and Otabek releases him, letting him slip gracefully to the ground again.

Yuri looks behind him and cringes when he sees that his fans are still nearby. “Did you say something about evac?” he mutters.

Otabek glances around. There’s a gap between the seats to their left, and if they’re fast enough they can lose the girls in the crowd. He bends close, having to stoop to reach Yuri’s ear. “This way,” he says, pushing Yuri by the small of his back. Together they hurry away, dodging into the throng of people and managing to lose Yuri’s fans by the time they reach the exit.

As they make their way towards the taxi stand, Yuri leaves a respectful space between them, as if he hadn’t been literally climbing all over Otabek not five minutes earlier. Bemused, Otabek follows the Russian skater, who hails a taxi that will take them into the city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your sweet comments. I haven't got time to respond to each and every one at the moment, but know that I appreciate them so much <3

2  
“Again! Less force this time; your body is too stiff.” Yakov’s criticism echoes around the rink, and Yuri curses violently as he spins in the air only to land off balance and topple, hard, onto the ice. It seems like Yakov knew he was going to fall even before Yuri’s feet left the ground.

From where he’s standing, Otabek can see Yuri’s frustration. He’s been having trouble with his quad Salchow, despite it being the first quad he’d ever landed, and one of the few he’d never really struggled with. But Yuri’s body isn’t the same as it was when he was fifteen, and he’s still getting used to the new centre of gravity.

Yuri climbs to his feet, brushes the ice from his hip, and skates a few loops to shake off the impact. Then he turns to skate in reverse, his head angled just slightly so that he can see where’s he going. His arms lift from his sides as he prepares for the jump and Otabek can see it as he swings his right leg forward: the stiffness in the knee, the slight wobble to the spin. Yuri knows it too because he snarls in mid-air, meeting the ice with a smack.

Otabek thinks he looks like he wants to scream; but he doesn’t. He picks himself up, glides to the edge of the rink, and kicks the barrier with the toe of his skate. It creates a sizeable dent.

Yakov looks furious, but Yuri ignores him as he makes for the exit, stopping only to fix his skate guards. “I’m taking a break,” he says to his coach, who splutters angrily but lets him go.

Seeing that Victor has started to glide towards the exit as if to follow Yuri, Otabek meets him halfway, blocking his path.

“I’ll go,” he says, noting the look of concern on Victor’s face.

Nevertheless, Victor nods and skates away, returning to practising his own jumps.

After a quick scour of the arena, Otabek heads to the locker room, where he finds Yuri seated on one of the benches, his back against a protruding pillar, his legs stretched out in front of him. He’s got his iPhone in hand and headphones over his ears so he doesn’t notice Otabek at first.

“What are you listening to?” Otabek asks as he approaches, and Yuri looks up, not startled but wary, like a feral cat. His face relaxes when he sees who it is, or Otabek imagines that it does.

He holds out his iPhone for Otabek to see. It’s a Russian band that Otabek doesn’t know so he taps the leopard-print headphones, indicating that he’d like to listen.

Yuri just shrugs and hands them to him, though he swings his legs off the bench and twists himself around so his back is now against the wall and there’s room for Otabek to sit.

When Otabek puts the headphones over his ears, he’s blasted by some sort of heavy metal music, all raw fury and frustration. He listens for a while, but eventually starts to browse through Yuri’s music collection. It’s pretty varied, which doesn’t surprise Otabek, but it doesn’t have what he’s looking for, so he switches to YouTube.

Once he’s found the song he wants, he hands the iPhone back to Yuri along with the headphones. “Try this,” he suggests.

At first, Yuri’s response is to roll his eyes. It’s a classical piece, orchestral with a focus on strings. But he doesn’t change the song. Instead, he moves closer to Otabek until their sides are touching, then he slumps his head against Otabek’s shoulder and huffs loudly.

It’s not particularly comfortable. The plastic of Yuri’s headphones digs into Otabek’s arm, and Yuri is so tense it’s almost like a wooden board is leaning against Otabek rather than a person.

But as the seconds pass, the music starts to do its work, and Yuri’s body loosens bit by bit. Otabek can feel the minute relaxing of his muscles and eventually Yuri’s breathing slows down too.

The piece is maybe ten or eleven minutes long, and after a while Otabek starts to wonder if Yuri’s asleep, but before he can check, Yuri lifts his head and tugs the headphones down around his neck.

He glances at Otabek and smiles, which sort of turns Otabek’s world upside down for a second.

“That wasn’t actually that awful,” Yuri says as the world rights itself again.

Otabek raises one eyebrow. “Such high praise,” he replies, deadpan, and Yuri sniggers.

He rests his ear against Otabek’s shoulder again, tilting his face away so Otabek can’t really see his expression. “That stupid jump,” he complains. “I could do it fine before.”

Otabek is sympathetic. He remembers what it was like when his body changed. Jumps that were easy were suddenly impossible; his limbs felt gangly, his whole self felt unstable and imbalanced. To be honest, Otabek thinks that Yuri got off easy; his body hasn’t changed that much and all of his lithe grace remains. Sure, he’s a little taller, a little more muscular, but it won’t take him long to regain his presence on the ice. He’s hardly lost it, in Otabek’s opinion.

“You’ll get it back,” he tells him. “You won’t give up.”

This, surprisingly, seems to help. Yuri nods once and stands; he stuffs his phone and headphones into his bag and heads for the door, turning back on the threshold to look at Otabek, who still hasn’t moved.

“You coming?” he asks.

Otabek nods and gets up, rolling his shoulders a little as he does so. Yuri watches with a smirk and then turns, leading the way back to the rink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm freaking out because I saw that clip of Yuri's exhibition skate. Johnny Weir's signature move.... and Otabek is there... oh help. I bet Yuri is a huge Johnny Weir fan. He totally has posters.

3  
It takes a little over a month for Otabek to find a motorcycle he likes in St Petersburg. It’s a sleek black machine, powerful but not overbearing, not unlike his bike back home in Almaty. Even though he isn’t planning on staying in Russia for longer than a few months, he’d been feeling antsy without his own transport.

He takes it out for a few spins before showing it to Yuri, getting used to the city and its drivers, and gaining a feel for the road layouts.

Winter in St Petersburg is icy, and Otabek makes sure to buy an extra jacket for Yuri to wear when he’s riding, or he’ll freeze to the bone on the back – tiger-print hoodies be damned.

When he does finally take it to practice, he’s the first one there. He doesn’t tell Yuri about it all day, thinking that it might be nice to surprise him, and he’s rewarded at the end of the day when they’re packing their things in the locker room, preparing to leave.

Otabek pulls the helmet from his bag, as well as the motorcycle jacket, and presents them to Yuri, one in each hand.

At first, Yuri’s eyes are suspicious and confused, but then his expression morphs. His eyes go wide, his lips part, and then he grins, wide, bright, and beautiful. Otabek’s only seen that grin a handful of times, and always when Yuri is looking at him.

His heart stutters.

His hands tremble for a brief second.

And then Yuri’s tugging the items out of his grip and donning the black jacket, that wonderful grin still pulling at his mouth.

“Hell yes,” he says, noticing the purple leopard print on the cuffs and lapels. He looks back at Otabek expectantly, and although the grin is fading, Otabek’s heart is still beating a little faster than normal. “Well?” he demands, and Otabek throws his bag over his shoulder and leads the way outside to where the bike is parked.

Yuri inspects it eagerly while Otabek swings his leg over and switches the engine on. It roars, then quiets to a dull rumble, and Yuri shoves the helmet over his head and clambers on behind Otabek, his hands resting over Otabek’s sides.

He hadn’t planned to take Yuri anywhere except home, but as they veer away from the curb and zoom down the street, Yuri’s hands slide around until they’re resting over Otabek’s stomach, fingers clasped together. His chest presses close against Otabek’s back, and his head falls between his shoulder blades, the helmet a smooth weight against his muscles.

This, Otabek decides, is a slow form of torture.

Does Yuri have any idea?

Unwilling to give up this closeness so soon, Otabek makes a right where he should make a left and carries Yuri off towards the waterfront. He wonders if Yuri has noticed that they’re heading in the opposite direction to Lilia’s place, but he makes no indication that he knows, or cares.

Otabek takes them past the ocean; it’s grey under the wintry sky, tossing like a herd of wild horses. He wants to turn and look at Yuri, to see if he’s affected at all by the sight, but he can’t. Though the arms encircling Otabek’s waist do tighten for the briefest moment, which sets Otabek’s heart stuttering again.

They don’t stop; the bike roars past a line of bobbing yachts before the road takes them away from the sea and back into the city. Otabek turns around and heads back the way the came, this time weaving between buildings. Yuri is relaxed and warm behind him, his body a welcome presence on the bike after spending the last few weeks riding alone.

They pause at a traffic light and Otabek lifts one of his hands from the handlebars for a second so he can press his gloved fingers lightly over Yuri’s. They flex beneath his touch but remain where they are, secure about his waist.

And Otabek starts to wonder.

Outside Lilia’s building, Otabek kills the engine and steadies the bike so Yuri can dismount. Once he’s standing on the footpath, Yuri pulls off the helmet and hands it back to Otabek. His face is lightly flushed, his hair a little mussed from the helmet.

For a moment, Yuri just stands there, an unreadable expression on his face. Then,

“You’re picking me up tomorrow,” he blurts out, and it’s a demand, not a question.

Otabek raises his eyebrows, but he’s smiling. “What about Yakov and Lilia?”

“I’ll meet them there.”

Yuri’s got that look on his face that means, _Don’t argue with me or I will ruin you_ , so he just nods and hands Yuri’s helmet back to him.

“Hold onto this then.” Yuri takes it, pale fingers splaying over the visor. “And bring gloves tomorrow,” Otabek tells him.

“Okay.” Yuri narrows his eyes for a moment, as if he’s trying to make a decision, but then his expression smooths over and he lifts a hand in farewell. “Bye then,” he says.

Disappointed for reasons that he doesn’t quite understand, Otabek starts up the bike again and kicks away from the path. He watches Yuri in the mirror for a while, growing smaller as he drives away, until he turns a corner and Yuri disappears from view.

Otabek heads in the direction of his own apartment, the phantom touch of Yuri’s hands still an invisible pressure on his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re last chapter. I have this headcanon that Yuri always forgets his gloves so he stuffs his hands inside Otabek's front jacket pockets to keep them warm. He loves to torture Otabek <3
> 
> Anyway, I think you guys are gonna like this one.

“Oi, Beka,” Yuri says after practice one afternoon. “Let’s hang out at your place tonight. I want to watch _Vikings_.”

“You can’t watch it at Lilia’s?”

Yuri snarls. “No. There’s some stupid documentary she wants to watch.” He blinks. “You have a TV, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?” It’s not unlike Yuri to get defensive, so Otabek just looks at him calmly.

“There’s no problem. Get your helmet and we can go.”

“Good.” Yuri huffs, inexplicably tense all of a sudden. He pulls his helmet from his bag and follows Otabek outside where they climb onto the bike.

As usual, Yuri snakes his arms all the way around Otabek as if he’s hugging him from behind. But he seems ill at ease, body tightly wound and thrumming with energy. It makes Otabek jittery, and he forces himself to concentrate on the road ahead.

They drive into the basement car park of Otabek’s building and he kills the engine, letting Yuri off first. He locks the bike to the rail and gestures to the door, leading the way up the three flights of stairs to his level.

Yuri’s never been to his apartment before, and once they’re inside he does a quick once-over with his eyes, noting the sparse furniture, the blank walls and minimal décor. “Hm,” he says. “Beka, you’re apartment is dull.”

“I have what I need,” Otabek responds, but Yuri’s having none if it.

“Aren’t you a DJ? You don’t even have any records.”

Otabek shrugs. “I do in Almaty. This was only ever going to be temporary, so I didn’t see the need to bring everything from home.”

Yuri’s face sort of twitches at that and he changes the subject. “You better have some food in this place. I’m starved.”

Otabek nods and wanders into the kitchen. “What do you want?”

Something nudges itself against Otabek’s side where’s he’s peering into the cupboard, It’s Yuri, leaning into Otabek’s space and inspecting the contents within the pantry. His hair tickles Otabek’s cheek.

He grabs a packet from the shelf and shoves it in Otabek’s face, grinning. Microwave popcorn.

Otabek gets it ready while Yuri inspects the rest of the apartment. He wanders into every room, including Otabek’s bedroom, and _hmphs_ at how uninteresting the place is.

“I don’t get it,” he growls, drifting back in as the popcorn starts to burst in the microwave. “ _You’re_ not boring, so why is your apartment so _dull_?” Yuri actually looks a bit angry, but Otabek knows now that anger is Yuri’s mask for confusion, and nearly every other emotion, at that.

This comment, despite being an insult to his interior design skills, nevertheless fills Otabek with a fierce warmth. He blinks. “You don’t think I’m boring?”

As the words spill out of his mouth, Otabek cringes at how pathetic they sound.

Yuri’s scowl deepens. “What?” he snarls. “Don’t be stupid, Beka.”

They stare at each other until the microwave beeps, and Otabek hurries to take the bag out and shake the contents into a bowl. Behind him, he hears the rustle of cushions as Yuri sinks onto the couch, and the light _thud_ as he puts his feet up on the coffee table.

“At least your furniture is comfortable,” he concedes.

Otabek turns to see Yuri slouched over the couch, his head tipped back to reveal the pale skin of his neck. His eyes are closed and he looks quite peaceful, both hands resting over his abdomen. The sun is reaching its last golden fingers into the room, and they set Yuri’s face and hair aglow. The sight is dazzling, and for a moment Otabek is frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak.

The Yuri scrunches his nose up a sneezes, and the moment is broken. Otabek snorts, earning him a reproving look from Yuri, who pushes some loose strands of hair out of his face and sits up a little straighter. The popcorn is dumped on the coffee table beside Yuri’s feet and Otabek slumps beside Yuri, reaching for the remote. They sit in silence, watching the last ten minutes of a show Otabek doesn’t recognise, and the popcorn disappears even before _Vikings_ starts. At first Yuri seems content to sit beside Otabek, their shoulders brushing every time one of them reaches for the bowl, but soon he swings his feet off the table and pulls them onto the couch, shuffling away a little bit so he can lie with his head pillowed in Otabek’s lap.

Taken by surprised, Otabek drops his gaze, but Yuri doesn’t spare him a glance. He seems intent on the show, even though the angle from which he’s watching looks awful. Otabek takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out, resisting the urge to card his fingers through the fine strands of hair that are now splayed across his thighs.

It turns out to be impossible, though. Half an hour into the programme and Otabek realises he’s been playing with Yuri’s hair and massaging his scalp without even really knowing it. The locks are as soft as they look, and it feels lovely to run them between Otabek’s fingertips. Looking down, Otabek expects to see a sour expression on Yuri’s face, but instead he looks asleep, eyes closed and mouth relaxed into a neutral line.

Otabek’s hands still and he slowly drags his fingers out of Yuri’s hair, taking care not to pull at any of the strands. Yuri stirs, scrunching up his eyes and turning his face so that his nose presses lightly into Otabek’s thigh. “Beka?” he says in a quiet, groggy voice that tugs at something deep within Otabek.

He lurches upright abruptly, bracing his hand on Otabek’s knee. “I missed half the show,” he complains, blinking at the TV, but he doesn’t look too upset. His hair is an absolute mess, his t-shirt is rumpled from the way he was resting, and Otabek has to force himself not to reach up and comb his fingers through Yuri’s hair to flatten it again.

Yuri does the job himself, working his own hands through in quick strokes until it’s back to its normal style. He makes no comment about Otabek touching his hair, and simply returns to sitting beside him, their shoulders and thighs touching. Otabek has no idea what to make of it. He thinks that this is probably significant, and wonders if they should talk about it, but Yuri’s eyes are glued to the screen again, trying to figure out what he missed, and Otabek supposes they can do it another time.

At the very least, Yuri didn’t seem to mind that Otabek had been touching him in a way that some might call intimate. If anything, it seems to have relaxed him. Besides, Yuri himself is very affectionate with Otabek, more so than with anybody else as far as Otabek is aware.

It still surprises him, though. The casual touches, the way that Yuri slides into his space as if it’s exactly where he wants to be. It’s nice. Comfortable. And other things that Otabek’s a little nervous to admit. Like the way each touch sends little waves of warmth and excitement up Otabek’s spine.

For now, though, he sinks back into the couch and returns his attention to the TV, trying to figure out what’s going on despite having never seen an episode of _Vikings_ in his life. He’ll have to watch the previous seasons, he reasons, or Yuri might disown him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is an absolute menace.

**yuri-plisetsky**  
[image: Yuri holds a takeaway coffee cup to his lips, a devilish glint in his eye. Otabek face is visible just behind his shoulder; he looks mildly surprised.]  
**Liked by v-nikiforov, phichit+chu, milaba and 889 others.**  
**yuri-plisetsky** stolen [coffee emoji]

 

 **yuri-plisetsky**  
[image: Yuri holds the camera above him; he’s lying on a couch, his head resting on an unidentified person’s lap. It’s sundown and the light is hazy and golden, offsetting Yuri’s scowl with a warm glow.]  
**Liked by phichit+chu, sukeota3sisters, yuuk-o12, v-nikiforov and 1087 others.**  
**yuri-plisetsky** evening

 **phichit+chu** WHO IS THAT  
**v-nikiforov** @otabek-altin ??

 

 **yuri-plisetsky**  
Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood  >  
[image: Yuri and Otabek stand side by side in front of a medieval Russian cathedral, the tips of Yuri’s fingers are just visible over Otabek’s shoulder while Yuri’s other hand makes the peace sign. Otabek looks a little flushed from the cold, but otherwise he is expressionless.]  
**Liked by phichit+chu, v-nikiforov, gpopovich and 856 others.**  
**yuri-plisetsky** sightseeing #spilledblood

 

 **yuri-plisetsky**  
[image: Yuri on the back of Otabek’s motorcycle; he holds the camera so we can see both his smiling face and the road disappearing behind the bike. A sliver of Otabek’s undercut and jaw is visible beside Yuri’s cheek.]  
**Liked by gpopovich, otabek-altin, v-nikiforov and 761 others.**  
**yuri-plisetsky** [motorcycle emoji] [lion emoji]

 

 **yuri-plisetsky**  
[image: A sleeping Otabek, propped against the couch cushions, head bowed forward. He looks peaceful in sleep, but there are grey circles under his eyes that suggest exhaustion.]  
**Liked by v-nikiforov, phichit+chu and 460 others.**  
**yuri-plisetsky** long day. goodnight. [moon emoji]

 **milaba** creepy!!!!  
**v-nikiforov** [heart emoji]  
**otabek-altin** …

 

Otabek stares down at his phone with a mingled sense of horror and confusion. He isn’t even sure when Yuri took that picture; he’s started hanging out at Otabek’s apartment after practice most days and Otabek falls asleep on the couch almost every time, usually with a napping Yuri beside him, his head sometimes in Otabek’s lap, sometimes on his shoulder. It’s become sort of a ritual; they make a snack, watch some TV, listen to some music, and then if they don’t have anything to talk about, they take a nap.

It’s pretty weird. Otabek’s not unaware of that. But it’s nice all the same, and they always wake up after an hour or two so Otabek can drive Yuri home. No harm done. Just a few extra hours of sleep that they both need.

Except that Yuri’s apparently been snapping unauthorised pictures of Otabek while he sleeps.

Otabek vaguely wonders what everybody else thinks of this. It’s a pretty intimate thing to share with the world, and while Otabek himself isn’t exactly sure how best to classify their relationship, he’s pretty certain that there are a lot of Yuri’s Angels out there baying for Otabek’s blood right now.

He deliberately avoids the comments. Just in case.

Does Yuri have more pictures like this? The possibility should annoy Otabek, who is generally a pretty private person, but instead he finds himself hoping that Yuri does. It means something, he thinks, that Yuri took that photo and kept the fact to himself, until now at least.

Scrolling through Yuri’s Instagram, Otabek realises that his posts almost always feature him in one way or another. The realisation sends a jolt up his spine. Yuri even posted about stealing Otabek’s coffee, though he does that literally every morning. Otabek just buys two coffees now – one for himself and one for Yuri.

There are pictures of Otabek’s motorcycle, pictures of Yuri on the motorcycle, videos of the road streaming away behind them as they hurtle along the seaside. There’s a snap of Otabek’s window, through which the afternoon sun is streaming, and another photo timestamped for the same day of Yuri’s head in Otabek’s lap, hair lit up like a halo.

Otabek remembers that one. Yuri was annoyed because of something Victor had done (Otabek forgets what), but then he’d looked at the sun coming into the apartment, said, “hey, that’s pretty,” and snapped a photo of the window, and then himself, draped over Otabek’s thighs.

Right after, Otabek had threaded his fingers through Yuri’s hair and massaged his scalp until he fell asleep.

In fact, the only photos that haven’t got anything to do with Otabek since his arrival in St Petersburg are the ones of Yuri’s cat. Granted, there are a lot of them, but Otabek’s presence is still pretty noticeable, even if you’re not looking too hard.

Hesitantly, Otabek closes Instagram and opens his messages. He types one to Yuri:

_…When did you take that photo anyway?_

The reply comes barely thirty seconds later.

_yesterday._

_Any particular reason why you took a photo of me while I was sleeping?_

He means it lightly; he hopes Yuri doesn’t think the tone accusatory, though he worries when the reply takes a while to arrive, and Yuri starts and stops his message several times before Otabek’s phone vibrates with an incoming text.

_you looked comfortable_

Which… is unexpected, especially considering Otabek looks decidedly uncomfortable in that picture with his head bowed over and unsupported. Otabek gets the distinct feeling that Yuri’s not saying what he means.

But what’s new.

He doesn’t pursue it, just changes the subject to the spot he’s picked out for their Saturday ride (Shhuchye Lake), and what time Yuri wants to leave in the morning. Although Otabek gets the feeling that once again they’re skirting around something that neither of them are willing, or perhaps ready, to discuss.

Eventually they organise for Otabek to pick Yuri up at nine, and after sending a quick _Goodnight_ , Otabek gets ready for bed.

He checks his phone one last time when it vibrates, and smiles when he sees Yuri’s customary _have nice dreams_ , followed by a string of cat emojis. Then he rolls over onto his side and shuts his eyes, allowing sleep to take hold of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it's underwhelming.

+1  
In the end, Saturday doesn’t turn out to be a good day for visiting Shhuchye Lake. The sky unleashes a torrent of rain upon the city and neither of them are particularly keen to ride very far in the downpour. Otabek picks Yuri up anyway and they hunker down in Otabek’s apartment with hot chocolates to keep them warm, their sodden raincoats draped over the dining chairs.

Otabek doesn’t mind; it would have been nice to spend some time outside the city, but he’s happy here with Yuri, just hanging out. Yuri’s fiddling around on Otabek’s laptop, playing various songs that he’s thinking about using for his programmes next season.

“Ugh,” Yuri moans after the third piece he’s played. “I hate all of these.”

Otabek blinks. “Didn’t you pick them in the first place?”

He gets a decent glare for that, and Yuri huffs. “I just picked them because I knew Lilia wouldn’t bite my head off about them.”

“You can’t skate to something you don’t like.”

“I know _that_ ,” Yuri half growls. “But I don’t know what I like anymore.” He clicks onto a new random piece, hisses, and shuts the laptop lid. Then, as if a lightbulb has illuminated inside his head, he sits up suddenly and stares wide-eyed at Otabek. “You could do it,” he says.

“What?” Otabek almost chokes on his mouthful of hot chocolate. “What do you mean?”

“You should pick my programme music for next season!” He’s grinning now, that beautiful grin that Otabek loves so much. “You’re a DJ! And you always know what to play to make me feel better. Yes!” He shoves the laptop away from him and grips Otabek’s shoulder, looming over him with an expectant expression.

“Yuri – I barely even know what to use for my own music. Let alone –“

But Yuri shuts him up with a scowl. “Do this for me, Beka,” he says. “I want you to pick my music.”

“I –“ But he gets no further with his argument. Otabek is weak, especially when it comes to Yuri. “Fine,” he agrees.

“Yes!” Yuri punches the air.

Truthfully, Otabek already has some ideas. Yuri skates best when it’s to music that he loves; he proved that in his exhibition skate three years ago, and this time Otabek thinks he might be able to get Yuri to show the world something new. Lilia usually picks something classical, but although Yuri finds solace in that sort of music, it’s never been his favourite to skate to.

An image forms in his mind: Yuri skating to a song that Otabek picked especially for him. Every beat reminding him of Otabek.

Slowly, a grin spreads over Otabek’s face. “You may regret this,” he teases, and Yuri shakes his head.

“I won’t.”

Warmth unfurls inside Otabek’s stomach as he watches the excitement on Yuri’s face. He has no idea why Yuri has so much confidence in him, but it makes him happy. After a while Yuri collapses back onto the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table.

Otabek gestures to a pile of DVDs near his shoes. “Want to watch _Vikings_ season one?” he asks. “I guess you’ve seen it, but I haven’t.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Put it on.”

Otabek wrestles with the DVD player until it’s finally playing, and then he settles back into the couch, a warm and relaxed Yuri leaning into him ever so slightly. Though soon enough Yuri is sprawled over Otabek’s lap in his usual position.

They watch a couple of episodes, and the third has just started when Yuri suddenly slides his hand behind Otabek’s neck and begins to rub little circles into the short hairs of Otabek’s undercut.

Something like electricity jolts up Otabek’s spine and he freezes, but the motions of Yuri’s slender fingers feels amazing, and it’s not long before he’s completely boneless and blissed out, his eyes drifting shut as Yuri’s hands skim higher, tugging at the hair at the back of Otabek’s head.

A small, pleased noise escapes his throat before he can stop it, but Yuri doesn’t pause, even when Otabek opens his eyes to meet Yuri’s gaze.

“Yura,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. It hits him then, as it frequently does, how beautiful Yuri is. His sleek yellow hair, expressive eyes, and the softness of his skin in the lamplight make Otabek’s throat run dry.

 _I’m being an idiot_ , he thinks, as an overwhelming rush of courage surges through him.

He tips his face down towards Yuri, pausing barely an inch from his lips. When Yuri doesn’t pull away, Otabek presses their mouths together.

He expects Yuri to kiss with a little violence, but in fact he’s quite gentle, almost timid. Otabek folds his arms around Yuri, palming his shoulder blades, and sinks a little further into the kiss.

Yuri makes a sound in the back of his throat and raises his other hand so that both are curled around the base of Otabek’s skull. After another second or two they pull apart and Yuri blinks at him, his face flushed.

“Fucking finally,” he says.

Otabek laughs, though he feels a little hysterical. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to kiss me for ages. I though I was being obvious.”

“Um.” Otabek desperately tries to get his thoughts in order. “Why didn’t you just kiss me yourself?”

Yuri scowls and looks away, his flush deepening. “Wasn’t sure,” he mutters.

Oh. Otabek gets that.

“Well,” he says, “me neither.”

Yuri snorts. “Moron,” he says, but there’s no acid in it. He leans close again and captures Otabek’s lips in another lingering kiss. After a moment he pulls away again and regards Otabek with a teasing look. “My Instagram followers figured it out before you did, you know.”

Otabek raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. After I posted that photo of you. And the one of me in your lap – they were all speculating like mad.” Yuri sniggers. “But you still couldn’t figure it out.”

That isn’t exactly fair. “Well, I thought that maybe there was something – but I didn’t want to risk pushing you away. And – well. Yuri, you’re –”

“What?”

Otabek sighs and rubs his eyes. “You’re _you_.” It doesn’t quite cover everything he’s felt these past few years, but it’ll have to do for now.

Yuri huffs and lifts his head to rest his cheek against Otabek’s shoulder. “You really are a moron.”

“I think you like me anyway, though.”

“Hm.” Yuri doesn’t respond anything further, but he does slide his hand back into Otabek’s hair and scratch deliciously at his scalp.

And, well, if that isn’t an answer then he doesn’t know what is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually I read somewhere that Otabek chose 'Welcome to the Madness' for Yuri's exhibition skate, but I'm not sure how that works since they met properly what, like, 3 days before he had to perform it? Still, I kinda love the idea.
> 
> Edit: I've been informed that it is indeed true. SCREAM.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, friends! I especially appreciate all your kudos and comments <3


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